


cast list - callback auditions

by seraf



Series: backstage passes! [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ableism, Behind the Scenes, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Missing Scene, Pre-Game Chabashira Tenko, Pre-Game Momota Kaito, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Racism, Suicide Attempt, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Virtual Reality, it's from tsumugi's pov so, she has . . . contorted views on a few things, this is . . . pretty heavy in a few places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: since v2 ended, tsumugi has been narrowing down the list of potential game pieces to a select handful.in order to make the final list and to cement their roles, she observes each of them at their schools, in their day-to-day lives, to see the raw materials she has and the characters she can make them into.





	cast list - callback auditions

_dramatic irony_ , **noun**. a literary technique originally used in the greek tragedy, wherein the audience knows something that the characters do not.

 

tsumugi shirogane wanted to write a story that would put oedipus to shame.

 

they had narrowed down the list of auditions to about the final thirty or so, so tsumugi was doing some field work. currently, she was sitting in another unfamiliar classroom, in a school uniform she’d never worn before this week, and going entirely unnoticed.

 

there were, she mused, some benefits to being plain.

 

while their auditions and short written responses and appearances had been the things to initially draw the writers to them as potential characters, it was easy enough to fake those things. there was nothing like observing them, how they actually lived and interacted in a school environment, to narrow it down and to flesh out the people they would be on-screen.

 

( you could write all the coding you wanted, but in the end, the bare bones of the people they used to be were the things that supported real fiction. you couldn’t fill in every memory. their own minds stopped up all the gaps. )

 

two of her first potential characters went to this school. kaito momota. korekiyo shinguji.

 

she had access to their school files, of course - they’d signed over their right to privacy.

 

kaito momota was . . . in another world, he might have been smart. in his earlier grades, the teacher’s notes were filled with margins of _a bright young man_ and _if he only applied himself_ and _i don’t believe momota’s grades are representative of his potential,_ before they’d seemingly given up on trying to change him. tsumugi, running her thumb over one dog-eared page of her notebook, wonders if she _could._

 

he was popular, in the kind of way that meant everyone was too afraid of him to change the way things were, and he liked it that way. technically speaking, he was a bully. danganronpa always had their fair share of them in the applicants. people who had learned to believe they were invincible.

 

korekiyo shinguji was a mess. his audition video . . . it had caught her attention, his hollow eyes and slim fingers, and the statement _i’m dying anyway._ he kept his face constantly covered due to the disease he had - there wasn’t a real sort of _mystery_ there, but oh, how tsumugi itched to write one. when his mask was removed, because it _would_ be, that’s what the audience would want, there would have to be something _shocking_ underneath.

 

the power of the hippocratic oath was nothing, really, against the power of danganronpa. two parts influence, one part resources, and one part admiration or easily bribed interns, it was laughably easy to get medical or psychological information. laughably easy to find out that korekiyo had, despite his illness, been living at a friend’s house for the past four months, rather than with his sister, for . . . a reason that was left tantalizingly vague. to find out about multiple attempts, one or two of which had nearly succeeded.

 

these two would be interesting indeed to mold. she already had intentions of going against every one of kaito’s wishes and turning him into a hero. what a moment it would be, when they found out the person he used to be. korekiyo was a mystery, and she intended to amplify that. keep the audience confused, but a little unnerved.

 

as luck would have it, the two of them appeared to be about to interact. tsumugi hid her face behind her notebook so it wouldn’t be _too_ clear that she was staring.

 

shinguji was engrossed in some book, drifting through the lunch tables almost absently, like he was only _just_ remembering to keep walking. momota was a few tables behind him, stride long and already looking annoyed at the long haired boy’s back.

 

it was easy enough to guess what would happen next, and her raw materials didn’t disappoint.

 

to momota’s credit, he did stand behind shinguji for a few seconds, one foot tapping impatiently, as though waiting for the other boy to snap out of it and move out of his way, like everyone else had when he’d gotten within a twenty foot radius, but korekiyo seemed to be lost in his own world.

 

when momota shoves him, he stumbles, trips over someone’s leg as they stick it out, and crash inelegantly to the floor, breaking out into a coughing fit - a deep, hacking thing that racks their entire body. tsumugi thinks she can see a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mask, and she watches with fascination. is it from a broken nose, or is his sickness doing this to him?

 

momota nearly just steps over him without incident, but he pauses to slam his foot into korekiyo’s stomach again, setting his cough back with a vengeance, and barks out something like _that’ll teach you to move out of the way next time. fuckin’ fag._

 

korekiyo’s eyes _burn_ with hatred, and tsumugi almost tears her notebook in half flipping through the pages. a cruel kind of comeuppance. she could give his disease to momota. have him hack up blood. that, combined with the hero role she was already envisioning him in - she could add his toxic masculinity, as well, but turn it into something tragic, something that made him feel like he had to hide weakness from everyone, which would make the sickness plot twist all the more heart-rending for the viewers . . . it was _perfect._

 

she circled _kaito momota_ with a bold purple pen on her list of candidates.

 

she takes the shuttle from this school back to the studio, pleased with her visit. kaito was _absolutely_ going to be one of the contestants now, and her hand soared over the page with possible talents and backstory and relationships - oh, but for him, she wanted to see something that ended tragically. he was - or he _would_ be quite the larger-than-life figure, so wouldn’t everything be even better when it came crashing down, in the sudden and shocking way that danganronpa was always good at?

 

a quiet voice pulls her out of her thoughts. ‘ do you mind if i sit here? ‘

 

the seat next to her, she realizes, is the only unoccupied one, and hastily, she moves her bag off of it with a quick mumble of assurance, slipping her notebook back into it before realizing that it’s korekiyo shinguji sitting next to her, now, studying her with surprisingly intelligent yellow eyes.

 

( the showrunner in her immediately took note of that. he would have to be some kind of scholar, of course, if he became part of the show - one of the academic talents. his gentle voice and eerie appearance made him perfect for that kind of role - the kind of person who knew just a little too much. she thought back to what she had seen at lunch. she could turn him into a person wrapped up in his own work, his own world, so much that he forgot how you were supposed to act around other people. )

 

‘ i haven’t seen you before, ‘ he says, and his voice is level, even.

 

she shrugs, forcing herself to remain nonchalant. ‘ w-well, it’s a pretty big school. and i’m kinda plain, you know. a lot of people don’t really notice me. ‘

 

‘ mm, ‘ shinguji replies, eyes drifting away from her, elbows propped on his knees.

 

she can’t exactly pull out her notebook now, with one of her subjects sitting right next to her, so she reaches for one of the books in her bag instead, settling right back into the comfortable world of manga. it’s a more obscure one, this time - a forbidden love between a prince and his sister. the advisors tried to seal her away from him to end their relationship, but he keeps finding new ways to make the long journey to her.

 

‘ what is that? “ shinguji asks, and his eyes seem a little stormy, but his expression is unreadable behind his mask.

 

she tells him the title, and then immediately launches into a synopsis - she can’t help it, when it comes to her interests. she’s just at the part where she’s telling him about the third character arc when she looks at him and realizes, even with the mask, that his expression is one of unbridled disgust.

 

‘ w-what’s wrong? ‘

 

he flicks a finger in the direction of her book. ‘ that is. it’s disgusting. incest isn’t something that should be turned into . . . an exciting romance trope. ‘

 

feeling suddenly defensive, she hugs her book to her chest. ‘ but it’s just fiction! ‘

 

‘ fiction that advocates that kind of thing. when people . . . consume more of that kind of material, it classically conditions them to see it as _better_. to think that they can have fantasies like that and think it’s alright. ‘ tsumugi can’t even really deny that - one of her longest fantasies is the stepbrother trope, having a faceless big brother reach under her skirt when their parents aren’t home and -

 

and korekiyo is moving, shifting to stand at the front of the shuttle, rather than sit next to her.

 

anger suddenly blossoms deep in her chest, a furious kind of spite, and she tears into her backpack again, pulling out the first pencil her hand reaches and circling korekiyo’s name until the tip snaps. so that’s what he thought, was it?

 

she thought back to what she remembered of his file. a sister he had some mysterious falling-out with. guest appearances were few and far between on danganronpa, but maybe - maybe she could use that. during his execution, perhaps. or - or, she thought, almost giddy, a callback to ishida and syo _both._ a tulpa figure of a beloved dead one, a serial killer with a split personality.

 

she’d show him disgusting. she’d _make_ him disgusting.

 

shuichi saihara’s school is a little harder to infiltrate - a little smaller, a little more out of town. still, she sits taking notes in a calculus class, and nobody pays her any attention - their eyes skip right over her. it gives her a good opportunity to watch them. ( shuichi saihara is her target, of course, but she people-watches, too - sees how much hype there is for the upcoming season of danganronpa, listens to people discussing the last, trying to see the different trends and so on in everyday people, not just avid fans who talk about it constantly. )

 

rantaro amami is a name on everyone’s lips, it seems.

 

( it’s to be expected. he’s chosen to be the sacrifice the third game in a row. the fifty-third game will mark his fourth. she’ll pay him a visit after they’ve finalized most of the cast. )

 

she doesn’t sit _alone_ at lunch - that would make her stand out. rather, she sits at one of the tables full of people who don’t _really_ have anywhere to sit, but know each other just enough or are polite enough to either avoid eye contact with each other or speak. and they do just that, the boy on her left looking methodically at his lunch as he picks it apart, the girl across from her murmuring a _hello_ and leaving it at that.

 

and suddenly shuichi sits next to her, and she stifles a scowl. if he’s recognized her as an outsider, she’s really goingto have to take a step back and start re-evaluating how good her technique really is. but his eyes are bright and excited. he points to the danganronpa pin on her bag - small and discreet, really. ‘ what did you think of v2?? i really wanted to see rantaro’s character arc pick up again where it left off in v1. they kind of just completely rebooted him and it felt like a little bit of a wasted opportunity to me. though i’m glad one of his motive videos included the past sacrifices he’d had to make - it made his choice to do it again just that much cooler, don’t you think? ‘

 

tsumugi nodded slowly, a bit apprehensive of the wallof words he was hitting her with. the girl across from her shot her a brief sympathetic look - given his interview, this must just be a normal occurance with him, at least. she wasn’t being singled out.

 

‘ though, ‘ he continues, pulling out a notebook of his own - a tasteful purple, designed to look like kirigiri’s gloves - ‘ i did come up with a really cool fan execution for him. not like they’d take suggestions, right? but - it was a lot of fun anyway. you want to see? ‘

 

tsumugi didn’t even really get the opportunity to accept before he’s shoving the notebook in front of her. disgruntled, she flips through the pages, and finds herself surprised. it’s . . . impressive. shocking and ironic, brutal and _gruesome._ exactly the kind of thing the staff was looking for to amp up ratings in this latest season.

 

she wondered . . . well. it couldn’t hurt.

 

‘ that’s actually plainly good, ‘ she says, handing it back to him. ‘ can i ask you something? ‘

 

‘ of course! ‘ he says, and she can almost picture a tail frantically whipping behind him. she wonders if this is the longest someone’s voluntarily put up with him before. not that she canreally criticize his fanaticism. his fixation on kyoko was similar to her own on junko. maybe it _would_ be good to have himplay a part in her masterminded season. a narrative foil, as it were - she would be playing the roleof junko. why not give him the part he wanted as well?

 

she flips through her notebook. ‘ would you be willing to come up with a few for me? i’m writing my ownfangan, and i’ve just never been very good at that part. ‘

 

he brightens. ‘ of course!! what are their talents? what about their histories? what kind of fic rating are you going for? ‘

 

she hands him the list. _ultimate maid. ultimate entomologist. ultimate pianist. ultimate supreme leader. ultimate inventor. ultimate akido master. ultimate artist. ultimate anthropologist._ hesitating for a moment, she tacked on _ultimate cosplayer_ to the list. ‘ these are some of the ones who might commit murder. i still haven’t decided which, yet. ‘ she rests her chin onher hand and sighs. ‘ sometimes, the characters just run away from you, y’know? ‘

 

he nods, looking almost feverish with excitement as he scans over the piece of paper. ‘ i totally get what you mean. but isn’t that part of the good thing about danganronpa? it always kinda manages to surprise you, y’know? ‘

 

she smiles vaguely in reply, and scoops up her books as the first bell rings. ‘ i think we have world history together second block tomorrow, ‘ she says. ‘ do you think you can get it to me then? i know it might be a bit of a rush, but . . . ‘

 

‘ you can count on me, ‘ he swears, eyes still shining, and she smiles as she walks to her next class. ( which she _also_ shares with him. she shares most of her classes with him, given that he’s the subject of her observation at this school. ) which he . . . never appears for. in fact, for the rest of today and tomorrow, she doesn’t see a trace of shuichi saihara until second block.

 

he sits down next to her in that class, breathless and almost vibrating with excitement. ‘ i might’ve gotten a little excited with some of them, ‘ he says, handing her a slim notebook - multiple pages describing the executions for each of them and some of the thought process behind them.

 

she flips through them with a calculated eye. _cultural melting pot. wild west insecticide. der flohwalzer. strand of agony. ninety-nine percent perspiration. i’m your biggest fan!_

 

the last one is what would have been her _own_ execution, so she can’t help but pause, fingers tracing over the pages, writing and drawn panels. blank grey figures are chasing her down a convention path, the gaps between booth spaces narrowing and narrowing until they suddenly disappear, and she’s standing on a metal board over a giant pit. there are cheers around her and bright, disorienting flashes, and suddenly, she’s in an incredibly elaborate costume - she knows the sort. giant, impractical weapons, armor that makes it impossible to turn or bend at the waist, seven inch heels. she keeps trying to cross to the other side, arms wheeling as she tries, even with her over-the-top costume, to keep her balance.

 

and then the pit opens up, revealing the giant, rotating blades of a fan or propellor of sorts. the gust coming up from it proves just the thing to finally knock her over, and she falls into it, gory pink blood painting the walls of the pit.

 

zoom in to one of the walls, splattered entirely with her blood. a monokuma dressed as a character from a popular anime pulls out a sharpie and autographs the wall in one of the few blank spaces with a flourish. end scene.

 

of course, it’s very likely her death will be much more plain. she doesn’t want to draw attention, of course. but she _loves_ the idea.

 

‘ thank you, ‘ she says, and means it. ‘ these are great! i probably won’t even have to change any of them much to fit the characters. ‘

 

he’s beaming with pride, grin a little wonky. ‘ you’ll have to link me, ‘ he says, and suddenly, he’s clutching her hand. ‘ we can talk about it tomorrow! you’ll be here, right? ‘

 

no, she won’t. because she’s seen what she came here to see.

 

‘ of course, ‘ she reassures him with a small smile. on the train ride home, _shuichi saihara_ is underlined in the bright blood-pink pen he had given her along with the notebook.

 

not quite protagonist material. but wouldn’t it be something to see him grow into that? especially if at the end, somehow, he found out that he had _designed_ the executions some of his friends had been consigned to . . . she hugged the notebook to her chest. shuichi saihara, _this_ shuichi saihara, would probably love that. the fictional ultimate detective would not, and that _thrilled_ tsumugi.

 

angie yonaga is an apathetic foreign student who would feel out of place both here and where she came from. himiko yumeno is a manic-depressive kleptomaniac - in the three days tsumugi has been going to this school to observe them, she’s seen himiko belly laugh until she started crying and fill up an entire class with a meaningless conversation with the teacher and run two laps around the school just for the hell of it, and she’s also seen her sit in the same spot in the courtyard for four class periods, just staring at her shoes or at her phone like they’d have all the answers for her.

 

angie seems distant, out of place. she drifts through her classes in a daze and sits alone at lunch, though himiko sometimes joins her. her sketchbook is full of abstract colors, like a child’s disjointed scribblings. every day, after leaving school, she sits at the edge of the koi pond and dips her fingers into the water, singing something in a language tsumugi doesn’t quite know, humming some of the words instead of saying them.

 

‘ what does it mean? ‘ himiko asks, tossing bits of bread to the fish that teem to the surface as she does.

 

‘ i don’t know, ‘ angie says. ‘ i just . . . remember the song. ‘ she fiddles with a bracelet around one wrist. half-there memories, her accent, and a worn string of beads are all she has to remember the world she came from.

 

maybe tsumugi can play up the religious aspect. she’s heard angie reference _atua_ once or twice - that’s a polynesian god, right? so it would be at least a _little_ based in reality. of course, tsumugi doesn’t like pious characters. maybe a girl entirely wrapped in the spirit of her religion, or one who used it to sway others. there was the foreign element, too, so she could add in whatever outlandish details she wanted and the audience would either accept it at face value or just read the exaggerations as comic relief.

 

of course, given her tropical sort of background, what she wore now wouldn’t do for the character angie yonaga. they already had [N/A] and miu and [N/A] and kaede in mind when it came to fanservice characters, but why not put her in a bikini or something as well? give her a bit of a jarringly _different_ feel.

 

tsumugi shirogane watches angie yonaga pick her way through a thermos of leftovers, and muses about how to turn her into a cult leader.

 

himiko is more childish, tsumugi thinks absently, watching her. much easier to try and turn her into the kind of character audiences wanted to protect or treat like a little sister than utilize her for fanservice. which meant - she glanced at the paper in front of her, looking at himiko’s prescriptions. aripiprazole was listed there, with a brief list of some of the symptoms it was meant to treat.

 

no, himiko couldn’t be one of the characters with heavy or substantial mental issues. she was supposed to bring a sort of childlike charm to the game. psychosis could be attributed easily to one of the other characters. maybe angie herself,tsumugi thought, chewing the end of her pen. leave it up to the audience whether the voices she hears are just her telling stories or a result of psychosis or actual divine intervention. in the same way that she had designed korekiyo’s slight physical changes whenever his sister posessed him. leaving it up to the viewers what was _really_ happening there.

 

she’d be interested to see some of the theories this season. the plot twists had quickly spiraled into something grand and stunning.

 

 _a story to put oedipus to shame indeed,_ she thought, back in her apartment in the danganronpa headquarters, writing up plotlines about cults and ghosts and girls too apathetic to love until it was too late and boys with too-feminine faces who were torn into something sick inside.

 

of course, not all of her visits were successes. she’d watched [N/A] for five days before giving up and scribbling out her name on the sheet. there wasn’t anything special about her, or anything she could easily turn into a compelling story. [N/A] had seemed like a promising potential ultimate paramedic, but it turned out that only ran about skin-deep. he was a very steady person - the sort they couldn’t even make too much of a dent in after wipes. pity, that. it was always more interesting when there was someone with medical expertise on the team - it led to more failed murders, which led to a more complex group environment. more distrust.

 

well, she would make do.

 

gonta gokuhara - now he was harder to observe, being in juvenile detention. tsumugi’s plainness might actually be the thing to make her stand out, there. she uses danganronpa credit to disguise herself as one of the workers, instead - one of the faceless people in blue who stands in the corners of the room with clipboards to make sure everything’s in order.

 

 _make me . . . a different person. a better person, even,_ gonta had said in his audition.

 

she considered him now, his hair tied back into a ponytail - he hadn’t gotten a chance to get a haircut during the time he spent in juvie. he was a rich kid, his parents high in influence, but that hadn’t stopped him from winding up here. if anything, they had seemed happy to be rid of him. he was intelligent to a fault - his grades were all good. but he was _too_ strong, and his social skills were . . . minimal, at best.

 

maybe she could do something with that.

 

he’d asked for an intellectual field, something that hadn’t ever been done on danganronpa before, and she had eventually settled on ultimate entomologist. not an easy field of study or one for stupid people by any means. but she saw no reason why she couldn’t make him both.

 

she thumbed through his file, underlining things she would change about him. suspicious nature turned to complete belief in others, to the point of being easily gullible. violent nature turned to someone who wouldn’t want to hurt a fly. ( _especially_ not a fly, she thought to herself with an absent little smile. ) she intended to make him a favorite. he wouldn’t _survive,_ of course, he didn’t have the makings of a survivor, but he could become a beautiful tragedy.

 

a gentle giant to be, she thought happily, as she clutched her clipboard to her chest and watched gonta pick up another inmate kid by the collar of their uniform and nearly throw him across the room. he was stopped before he got the chance, of course, and she feels a little disappointed. it would have been great to see what his strength was capable of.

 

it took her two days to even realize who tenko chabashira _was._ when she had come in for an audition, her hair had been in long braids, tied up with a flourishing ribbon, and she’d been in a girl’s school uniform. which . . . throws tsumugi off, just a little, because the school she was given the address for was an all-boys school.

 

oh well, she thought, heading up to the school gates, danganronpa was never wrong. and it was hardly the first time she’d used her cosplay to turn herself into a boy. nobody seemed to notice her here, either. which was just how she liked it.

 

she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing here for the first two days. she’s about to ask danganronpa headquarters for a little more clarification when she runs into her, almost literally. running through the halls, tenko had shoulder-checked her by mistake when she had looked behind her, sending tsumugi sprawling backwards into the hallway, one of her glasses’ lens shattering and cutting the side of her face.

 

tenko was in a boy’s uniform, hair tied into a tight bun at the back of her head, looking horrified as she offered tsumugi a hand up. ‘ i’m so sorry, let me get your things for you, ‘ she said before cutting herself off and scooping up tsumugi’s books and papers, stacking them up messily and handing the pile to her, pulling tsumugi back up to her feet with an iron grip. ‘ do you need to go to the nurse’s office? i can take you. ‘ it took tsumugi a moment to realize she recognized those eyes, that nervous expression. _perfect._

 

she just nodded, rubbing her eyes like she was disoriented, and tenko almost pulled her down the corridors. the moment they were alone, tsumugi tugged on tenko’s sleeve. ‘ are you tenko chabashira? ‘ she asks tentatively, and tenko, almost comically, freezes.

 

‘ that’s a girl’s name, ‘ she says, jutting her chin out. ‘ of course it’s not me. ‘

 

tsumugi decides to be at least partially honest. ‘ i’m - i was also auditioning for this season, you know? i thought - i thought i saw you in the reception room. i guess i must have been plainly mistaken, though . . . ‘ she forces her eyes to look downcast. ‘ that’s a shame. i . . . was hoping i’d be able to talk to someone in the same position. ‘

 

tenko’s eyes widen, and tsumugi finds herself being yanked along again, until tenko opens the door to a staircase, pulling her into the spot underneath the stairs and sitting down, cross-legged. she’s resting her head in her hands, breathing beginning to shake uncontrollably, coming out in wheezes. tsumugi rests a hand on her shoulder.

 

‘ i’m tenko, ‘ she admits softly. ‘ but - tenko was born a boy, so here i’m akira chabashira. you can’t tell anyone. ‘

 

‘ i won’t, ‘ tsumugi says, and shifts the shirt of their shared uniform to reveal her binder - just for a disguise, not because of any actual identity, but it’s a bit of a white lie. it’ll help tenko feel more at ease, which means that it’ll be easier for tsumugi to see what makes her tick. ‘ i’m . . . well, just know i’m not going to tell. ‘

 

suddenly, her lungs become incapable of expanding, tenko crushing her in a hug.

 

‘ thank you, ‘ tenko says earnestly, and tsumugi almost feels bad for the lie. but this was an interesting character development. something that hadn’t really been played with since the controversy surrounding chihiro ( who had been a trans girl, but it’s not as though she could say as much post-mortem, and the writers thought it would be more shocking this way ). she gives her a weak little smile, patting tenko’s arm.

 

‘ so why’d _you_ audition? ‘ she asks, when tenko finally lets her go. tenko fiddles with her hands in her lap.

 

‘ well . . . i thought that if . . . it’s silly. but if the whole world sees tenko as a girl, it’s not something anyone will be able to deny, you know? and . . . danganronpa has always been interesting, ‘ tenko says, almost shyly. ‘ what about you? ‘

 

‘ the show got me through a lot, ‘ tsumugi says, not quite lying. ‘ i wanted to give back to it, even if all that meant was that i’d be a participant. ‘ tenko nods like that completely makes sense to her.

 

hm. tenko could be an interesting character. she wanted to be seen as female, so tsumugi vowed to make her almost obnoxiously so - a girl who loved other girls, both in the idea of them and romantically. misandrists never really went down well with the audience, but she didn’t really see tenko surviving past the first couple of trials. maybe if she _did_ survive past the third trial, tsumugi could incorporate the plot twist that she was “really a boy”. a callback to the first-ever season, which was still her favorite. you can’t beat the classics.

 

they talk idly about danganronpa and about nothing at all until the bell rings, and chabashira ( tenko, akira ) walks her to her next class, where she circles her name and draws a line connecting her to the part of _ultimate akido master._ she remembers tenko’s strength under the stairs, and her arms around her, and decides it might be good to amplify that earnestnesss to the nth level. she could perhaps be a foil or a love interest or an enemy or a friend for angie - both of them enthusiastic in their own way, both of them a little bit too odd to _quite_ fit in.

 

the day after she leaves tenko’s school, she finally visits rantaro.

 

when she meets with him first, they’re on the roof of a skyscraper, the cars turned into pinpricks of light below as the sun begins to set, the people smudged into groups, into beige spots of color far below them. he sits on the edge of the low wall around the roof as though he was expecting her, eyes distant. he doesn’t look at her, even as she comes to sit next to him.

 

she finally greets him, when the silence between them has gone on for five minutes. ‘ hello, rantaro, ‘ she says quietly, her voice almost blending into the background noise of the city.

 

‘ hey, moogi, ‘ he says, the nickname bearing none of the careless affection it had before he figured out she was part of the danganronpa staff. he’d always done everything with the attitude of a big brother, across all of his games, despite how much of his story they prodded around at. she supposes there are some things inherent to a person. if she believed in souls, the core of rantaro’s might be that - just the idea of being an older brother. wanting to protect people.

 

that’s why he was about to be in his fourth game, after all.

 

‘ i’m finalizing the cast for v3, ‘ she tells him, unable to keep the thrum of excitement out of her voice, clutching her notebook to her chest as a cool night breeze blows her hair into her face. she tucks it behind her ear, waiting for a response from him.

 

all he does is sigh, and finally, _finally,_ he turns to look at her, eyes empty, smile hollow. danganronpa had created a shell of a person. cored whatever rantaro amami _had_ been so many times that he didn’t exist outside of the game. there was nothing behind that mask.

 

tsumugi thought it was beautiful.

 

the epitome of real fiction. they’d taken a real person, and turned him completely and utterly into a fictional character. she didn’t even remember what the original rantaro had been like, when he had first auditioned. maybe she’d watch his tape after their visit. just to see what there had once been.

 

‘ don’t you ever get tired of it, tsumugi? ‘ he asks her,his voice tired.

 

‘ tired of what? ‘

 

he gestures slightly; at her, at her notebook, at her danganronpa badge. ‘ don’t you ever want to live in the real world? ‘

 

she blinks at him, baffled. ‘ why would i want that? ‘ she asks, after a few beats. danganronpa was so _beautiful,_ and now she got to be a part of it.

 

his smile was thin-lipped, and she shivered, just a little. there was nothing behind rantaro’s eyes - nothing, except a cold disdain. he hated her. hated what she stood for. finally he sighs, standing up, looking out over the cityscape sprawling out in front of them. ‘ because you have the choice to, ‘ he says.

 

she doesn’t get the chance to ask him what he means.

 

without any sort of ceremony to his actions, without any kind of warning, rantaro steps up onto the low stone wall and takes the next step forwards, out into the nearly thousand-foot drop.

 

tsumugi doesn’t bother to watch him fall.

 

someone pulls the virtual reality helmet off of her head and she glares at the hospital bed next to her, where rantaro is laying there, still and unconscious. ‘ he’s not planning on making this easy for us, huh? ‘

 

‘ no, ‘ one of the attendees replies, a bit wryly. ‘ ah well. you know the drill, miss shirogane - it’ll be about an hour before we can re-sync the world to let someone else visit after his avatar died. we’ll call you when you can come back in. ‘

 

she sits in the hospital’s little cafe and drinks boiling hot coffee that tastes like nothing and a slightly grainy apple as she flips back on all of the characters she’s begun to finalize, the designs for them starting to take place in her mind. a normal surgical mask wouldn’t do for korekiyo - it would have to be something almost insidious. amp up the childish aspect for himiko, put her in a comical witch’s hat or a cape or something, turn her loose hair into a straight bob.

 

she texts one of the designers, who is swift to send her back rough sketches of character concepts.

 

 _i like it!_ she replies, _but scrap the eyepatch for kiyo? and maybe we should make himiko look less like a furry lmao_

 

_you’re right tbh_

 

ten minutes pass.

 

_how’s this for gonta?_

 

long hair turned into a truly unruly mane, a suit, a bug box at his side, glasses, bare feet, and a gentle smile.

 

_perfect!!! why the glasses though? his phys. said he had above-perfect vision, iirc_

 

_i thought maybe like_

_he thought they made him look like a gentleman_

_so he wears them even though he doesn’t need to?_

_idk maybe i can scrap it_

 

 _no,_ tsumugi is fast to reply, _i think that’s genius. thx for the inspo_

 

_ofc! say hi to rantaro for me? xoxo_

 

_maaaaybe. if you’re lucky._

 

another twenty minutes pass before her phone beeps to alert her that the virtual world has recalibrated and she can visit again.

 

the second time she visits him, rantaro is sitting on a grassy hill, looking up at the stars, and he sighs as she comes to sit next to him. ‘ i suppose it was wishful thinking to hope you’d leave me alone, ‘ he says.

 

‘ you should know by now that killing yourself isn’t going to work, ‘ she chides him, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt as she does.

 

he laughs, a mirthless exhale of a thing. ‘ can’t blame me for trying, though, can you? ‘

 

no, she supposes she couldn’t. he had tried, twice, in the real world, after he’d gotten out of the last game, and that was enough for the danganronpa team to make a decision. and thus rantaro was plugged into a hospital bed with a constant iv and hooked up to the virtual world full time. they would transition him directly from this virtual world to the killing game space when the time came to start v3.

 

at least there were a few small mercies. they’d managed to reduce the time a little bit, so that for every two days that passed outside, he experienced one. and sometimes, his friends from past games came to visit. or tsumugi. she didn’t really think he counted her as a friend.

 

‘ do you want to know about the first drafts for the next cast? ‘ she asks, instead, and he shrugs lifelessly.

 

‘ what’s the point? it isn’t as though i’ll remember anything you tell me. ‘

 

he has a point, and so she falls quiet, scribbling possible relationships between him and the characters she’s beginning to flesh out in the margins of her notebook. she wanted to have at least one trickster or class clown type figure - they were considering either kokichi ouma or [N/A] for that part - so perhaps he could be _their_ older brother figure. she stifled a dark laugh. maybe he and korekiyo could be friends. their stories both tied so strongly to their sisters, after all.

 

‘ tsumugi. ‘ rantaro says, out of nowhere, suddenly. ‘ can i ask you something? ‘

 

‘ what is it, rantaro? ‘ she asks, her voice gentle as ever. plain. nonthreatening. the perfect mastermind facade.

 

he sits up, turning to face her. ‘ promise me something. i don’t care if you promise it to me as my friend or my enemy or as the mastermind of the next game or just whoever tsumugi shirogane is, underneath danganronpa. ‘ he pauses. ‘ if there _is_ a tsumugi under there. ‘

 

she supposes he has a point. she’s just as hollow as he is. danganronpa defines them both. somehow, she finds that thought more a comfort than whatever he intended it to be. ‘ what promise? ‘

 

‘ don’t let me live through this next game, ‘ he says, blunt and straightforward and _serious_ in a way he usually isn’t. ‘ i don’t care if i kill someone or get killed or die from some disease or environment motive or _whatever._ i’m about to be eighteen for the fourth time, tsumugi. i can’t - ‘ his hands curl into fists, knuckles white with stress. ‘ i can’t do this again. ‘ he sticks out his hand, one pinkie extended. ‘ promise you won’t make me. ‘

 

she considers him for a long moment. mercy kills are a bit of an overused trope, but less so in the world of danganronpa. and they’re both characters in that world, after all. so she twines her pinkie with his. ‘ i promise, ‘ she replies, and he smiles - one that isn’t guarded for once, just the expression of someone who’s been running for weeks on end finally guaranteed the prospect of a bed. utter relief.

 

well, you couldn’t have characters recurring _too_ often, she mused. ( except for junko! ) and it’d be an interesting mystery for the main group to unravel, if he died early - puzzling out the enigma that was rantaro amami, ultimate ???, turned out to be ultimate survivor ( ultimate adventurer ), because she knew he wouldn’t trust any of them enough to show off his survivor perk from the beginning.

 

she went to sleep that night clutching her concept book to her chest like a security blanket, like a tether, her head still racing with ideas that carried over into her dreams. a tragedy and an action movie and a coming-of-age story and a slasher movie and a mystery and a found family trope all in one - that was part of the _appeal_ of danganronpa, and now _she_ got to write it. and it was going to be all of that and more.

 

tsumugi shirogane wanted to write a story that would put oedipus to shame.

 

and she had just found some of her characters.


End file.
